


The morning after... well, technically.

by lary



Series: Control [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, POV Character of Color, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting involved with House holds both very good and very bad. Neither comes as a surprise to Foreman.</p><p>Set into S1 episode 11 Detox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The morning after... well, technically.

**Author's Note:**

> Do not own them.

_Ahh, so good. So, so good. Ohh, the warmth and... Oh._

Foreman was startled awake and he groaned when he looked down. House's eyes held a self-satisfied expression as he moved his tongue along Foreman's cock again, which responded by filling up, lengthening from half-hard to fully erect.

Foreman gasped when House took him in, sucking with a determination that made pleasure surge everywhere. _Ohh, fucking God that mouth_ , Foreman thought, and _please more_ , before the coherence left him altogether, his world narrowing into the feeling of pure bliss that was coiling inside him.

And then House swallowed him deep fully into that wet heat, his dick bumping into House's throat. Foreman moaned, curling his fingers into the sheet below him and letting out an uncontrolled noise as he came in a flood. House took it all, continuing the attention to his dick until Foreman felt himself completely sated and nudged House off him.

“Get up here,” Foreman said when he regained the capability.

“You lazy bastard are making me do all the work,” House complained, but he moved upwards.

“I should,” Foreman remarked, contradicting himself by manoeuvring House on his back and wrapping his fingers around his erection. House's cock was hot and ready in his hand, leaking precome, and Foreman jerked him, relishing House's laboured breathing and the small noises he was making. Foreman captured his mouth in a heated kiss, continuing the steady rhythm with his hand as House's tongue darted to meet his eagerly.

Foreman felt House getting closer, and he increased the pressure, causing the other man to break away from the kiss.

“Ahh, fuck,” House cursed from between his teeth, groaning as he spilled warm fluid over Foreman's hand.

Foreman lay on his back for several minutes before realising that he had no idea what time it was. He felt like going back to sleep, even more than he felt like washing up, but a glance at the alarm clock told him it was half past seven.

House grunted and reached for his pills as Foreman got up reluctantly. He left the diagnostician in bed and took a quick shower before wrapping a towel around himself and heading to the kitchen to set the coffee. He heard the shower start running.

The coffee was done when House got out, fully dressed. Apparently he'd had fresh set of clothes in his backpack, and Foreman took in the red shirt appreciatively.

House narrowed his eyes at Foreman's open appraisal. “This isn't going to become a thing,” he said.

“I think I'll live,” Foreman commented. Whatever House wanted to tell himself – that it wouldn't happen again, that he wasn't getting attached, whatever –  was fine by Foreman. He could wait. After last night he had no doubts that House would be back for more.

“Gimme,” House grumbled, and Foreman handed him the coffee pot.

“How come you're ready to go this early anyway?” Foreman asked, while House went for the caffeine fix. He would have figured that House would stay in bed for another hour at least. He never showed up to work before 10am, after all.

“Didn't think you'd trust leaving me alone at your place.”

“Why not?” Foreman asked. “Been too busy fucking you to accumulate anything too interesting between now and when you broke in last night.”

House couldn't quite hide his smirk. “Don't suppose you've got more of my pills around,” he then said as an answer to the earlier question.

“Right,” Foreman noted. “Want a ride?”

“Got my bike,” House said. He emptied his second cup before getting up to retrieve his jacket.

“See you at the hospital,” Foreman said. House grumbled as a response. Foreman smirked to himself when the door closed after House. _Clearly not a morning person._

 

**

  
“It’s a retinal clot in the left eye,” Foreman said as he walked into the conference room with Chase and Cameron. He couldn't wait to sit down and take a break for a while. They had spent the whole previous day running tests on their patient. They had come up with nothing, and now the kid had lost sight from his left eye.

They went over the usual ways, but due to the patient's condition, none of them could be used for restoring his sight.

“Forget the eye,” House ordered, coming out of his office. He looked like hell. “Tell him to use the other one to look on the bright side. The clot tells us something. It could help us figure out what he has, which could mean he gets to live. Differential diagnosis, people. How does internal bleeding suddenly start clotting?”  
  
“It makes no sense,” Chase said. “They’re opposing processes.”  
  
Cameron looked worried for House, but apparently she knew better than to comment on his ragged appearance. “It can happen in lupus. Increased platelet count can cause blood clots.”  
  
Wilson got in, getting coffee. “ANA was negative. It’s not lupus.”

Foreman tuned out House's discussion with Wilson and took out the patient file.  
  
House's irritated voice broke his concentration. “That’s why you’re here? She wants you to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t cheat.”  
  
“No, I want to make sure you don’t start firing shots from the clock tower,” Wilson said with great meaning. Foreman took in his demeanour. He clearly had something to do with whatever the hell was going on with House.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Cameron asked. Trust her to be worried.  
  
“He hasn’t had Vicodin in over a day,” Wilson explained.  
  
Foreman took in House's pained expression. “Does your leg hurt?”  
  
“You ever been shot?” House deflected.  
  
“There’s gonna be side effects. Insomnia, depression, tachycardia--”

House cut him off. “Withdrawal symptoms. Not applicable.”

 _Sure_ , Foreman thought, but he didn't comment. He could care less if House wanted to be a stubborn idiot.

“The only side-effects I’m going to have are some pain and thirty days of freedom,” House continued, before launching back to ddx. Foreman held back his observations, but he could see that House was distracted.

This was going to go badly.

 

**

 

Foreman left Chase and Cameron debating whether she should follow House's instructions about ruling out Hep E instead of treating for lupus. House had admitted himself that he didn't think it was Hep E, but he was insisting on the pointless treatment. The withdrawal was rendering him practically useless, and he was stalling.

Foreman had no interest in meddling in it, but working for House meant he was already affected.

The story about Cuddy's interference in House's Vicodin use was all over the hospital. Foreman made his way downstairs and entered her office without knocking.

“You have to put an end to this.”

Cuddy looked at him tiredly. “House needs to face his addiction,” she said, disregarding the fact that House would never give up Vicodin. There was no benefit to the experiment, but Foreman doubted he'd be able to make Cuddy see that.

“Which he can do at home or at a facility. Not while endangering the life of a 16-year old,” Foreman argued instead.

“You're overreacting.”

“He's insisting on testing for Hep E when he knows it's not that.”

“You don't know it can't be Hep E,” Cuddy insisted. Foreman wasn't surprised that she was on top of House's patient already.

“It's a long shot. His judgement is compromised.”

“We need House to solve the case, he's--”

Cuddy was interrupted by the patient's father barging into the office. “I wan't that jerk nowhere near my son!”

Cuddy switched immediately to administrative mode, ignoring Foreman. “Mr. Foster--”

“He lied to me about my son's treatment.

“I am sorry about that,” Cuddy said, leading the man towards the door. “However, Dr. House is our best doctor...”

Foreman hung back as Cuddy and Mr. Foster left towards his son's room. He hesitated only a moment before he went to Cuddy's desk and found the Vicodin bottle with a quick search. She'd be unlikely to miss it, not as long as House was so obviously showing withdrawal symptoms, and if he did take the pills, she'd assume House had swiped them himself.

Foreman left for the patient room.

 

**

 

The patient was getting worse and worse. He already would have lost sight from his eye if it hadn't been for Chase's idea. He could die and House had nowhere near his usual capabilities. Foreman waited until the end of the differential before he followed House to his office. He waited some more until House was done throwing up.

“Cafeteria,” House said. “Stay away from the sushi.”  
  
“And what happened to your hand?”  
  
“Got stuck in a drawer.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Foreman said. The injury was obviously self-inflected. He wondered if Wilson was the one who'd bandaged House's fingers. It was incredible that he and Cuddy didn't realise that House's need for control meant that pressure was completely counter-productive in getting him to face his addiction. “You’re going through withdrawal.”  
  
“No, I am going through pain. Pain causes nausea.”  
  
Foreman sighed, frustrated. “I took this job to work with you, not cover your ass.” He got the bottle from his pocket and set it on the table. “Your Vicodin.”  
  
House looked at the bottle surprised. “And your solution is to give me drugs. It’s interesting.”  
  
“No. Now I’m covering my ass. Take your pills before you kill this kid,” Foreman said before taking off. Foreman hoped that House's addiction would overrule his stubbornness.

 

**

 

Cuddy had managed to find the kid a new liver, but House had stopped the surgery. Based on Mr. Foster's thundery expression when he approached with Cuddy, the man was taking it about as well as could be expected.  
  
“You wanna explain to me why you stopped the surgery?” Cuddy asked.

She looked in shock when Keith’s dad took a swing at House, sending him falling down against the wall.  
  
“I want him locked up!” Mr. Foster was shouting, looking like he wanted to go again, but Foreman stepped in front of the man quickly, restraining him with Chase. “Take it easy,” Foreman said.  
  
House explained his reasoning, not getting up from the floor. Foreman was still reluctant to trust House's judgement, but the diagnosis made sense.  Mr. Foster calmed down gradually, and in the end he agreed to the proposed treatment, when Cameron supported it.

“Better hope he's right,” Chase commented to him quietly when they walked off.

“Couldn't agree more.”

 

**

 

Foreman had a sense of foreboding when he got a page from House. He knew that their patient was stable, and the clinic was already closed for the day, so it couldn't be medical.

When he opened the exam room door, he saw House sitting down on the exam table, shoulder slumped, and there was blood on the floor.

“Fuck,” Foreman muttered, seeing the cuts on House's leg. He grabbed the kit and took a syringe from the drawer.

“No, don't numb it,” House said.

“I need to stitch up the biggest cut.”

“Yeah, I know. And if you use that, it'll defeat the whole purpose of doing the damn thing in the first place.” House looked up to him, reaching for the kit. “Here, gimme that. I'll do it myself. You can go now.”

“Shut up, House,” Foreman growled, twisting House's uninjured hand away. “And why didn't you just mutilate your other hand some more?” Foreman asked. He could hear the anger in his own voice, but he wasn't sure if all of it was really at House.

“Seriously? You know how stupid that was, crashing my hand with a mortel?”

“Yeah, I do. Didn't think you did.”

“Pain will make you do stupid things,” House said in a dangerously defeated voice.

“Case in point,” Foreman noted, stitching up the biggest wound.

“No,” House hissed from between gritted teeth. “The hand, that was idiotic. A break could take months to heal. I wasn't thinking straight.”

“No kidding.”

Foreman was quiet while tending to rest the injuries. There was a lot of blood, but it looked worse than it was. He was about to stand up, but House had grown uncharacteristically quiet, staring at the floor. Foreman moved the kit away, remaining in his seat.

House's face was contorted in pain, but his eyes were blank when he finally looked at Foreman. “Cuddy's right. I'm an addict. It will never go away,” House said in a hollow voice.

Foreman felt numb. He knew House was right, there was no use for denial; the diagnostician would immediately identify it as the platitude it was and it wouldn't do any good.

It was the only thing that would be worse than what he had to say.

“No, it won't,” Foreman admitted.

It felt like House was shrinking right before him. His walls were gone again, and the blue eyes were filled with bitter hopelessness. “So what's the fucking point?” House's voice was barely audible.

Foreman thought for a moment before answering. “You know that already,” he finally said.

House fixed him with a piercing look, which gradually drove away the emptiness in his eyes. “Miserable is better than nothing,” House said, then.

“Yeah,” Foreman said with a vehemence. He saw something settle in House's exterior, like he was reassembling himself. Foreman felt a wave of relief, and he found it easy to smirk. “Plus, you need to stick around to enjoy the look on Cuddy's face when you pass by her office on the next thirty days on your way to doing anything but clinic duty.”

“Oh yeah,” House said glibly, getting up and straightening his clothes.

When House glanced at him briefly, there was the slightest flicker of something like gratitude in his expression, betraying that they had been talking about anything more serious than weather, and then it was gone. Foreman waited until House had limped out of the exam room before he took a deep breath and started cleaning up the blood on the floor.

 _Thank fuck this shit is over tomorrow_.

 

 


End file.
